


Under the wide and starry sky

by KipDigress



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post-Series, third kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipDigress/pseuds/KipDigress
Summary: After meeting again - the how or why are not important - Meg invited herself to visit Fraser's wilderness posting. No especial madness ensued, but after her departure Fraser reaches an understanding of several things. Ray and Maggie look on with some amusement.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is first line of Robert Louis Stevenson's poem 'Requiem'.

Benton Fraser was a lucky many - that was his conclusion one evening after his closest friends had left the isolated cabin in the wilderness that he called home, to return to what was commonly considered civilisation. His sister and Ray (Kowalski) had come for Christmas and Meg Thatcher had flown in a couple of days later and had stayed for the New Year. He hadn't seen any of them for a few months: they all had jobs - vocations really - as police officers; time off had a tendency to disappear or otherwise require rearrangement far too often; and his own duties kept him on the move for months at a time. But somehow they'd all managed to appear when they had planned to - and once there, leaving before they had intended simply was not an option.

He stood on a rise a couple of hundred metres from his cabin and gazed across the wilderness he loved so much. Not much was to be seen, the night dark and the clear sky above him speckled with stars. Maggie loved the wilderness as much as he did - like him, she'd been born and bred out amongst the snow and forests. Ray, while a city dweller by nurture, and fond of his home comforts, had been the one to suggest, many years ago now, a trip to the Beaufort Sea by dog sled. They'd gone - because that's what best friends and partners did, and if it was an excuse to do something for oneself, then that was just a bonus - and he'd been mildly surprised at how well Ray had adapted.

To Fraser's certain knowledge, Meg had only been to the wilderness once before - and really hadn't enjoyed the experience of spending hours frozen in a dog sled among what could often appear as unchanging and disorienting bleakness. She had - like Ray - understood and accepted that he called this place home: snow and ice and lakes and forests, with their various dangers and challenges. And yet she'd come - been the one to suggest that she came - and spent five days - short, dull days and long, frozen nights - in and around a small cabin just over three kilometres from their nearest neighbours and nearly ten from the nearest town.

They'd spent the first two days desperately trying to avoid anything approaching an awkward conversation. By the end of the second day, Fraser had been exhausted and had run away - there really was no other way to describe it - to this spot to try to think and gain some perspective. Some time later, he'd spotted a figure, well wrapped up, following his tracks. At first he'd thought it was Maggie, but a slight uncertainty in her gait had led him to revise his supposition and he'd been unable to decide whether to be amused or annoyed when Meg finally reached him.

"Maggie said you'd be up here," she said. "I thought you might like some tea," she ventured a moment later, holding out a thermos flask, when Fraser said nothing.

"Well I did leave before I had mine," Fraser allowed. He removed his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pockets before accepting the offered thermos and pouring himself a cup.

"What's worrying you?" Meg asked gently after he'd drunk a cup of tea in silence.

"Nothing," he said, then shook his head. "No, that's not true," he admitted, "it's just all so strange that I can't pinpoint exactly what it is that is actually bothering me," he explained, he brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his thoughts and feelings.

"Perhaps you should stop trying to figure it out and just accept it," Meg suggested, glancing up into Fraser's face.

"Maggie said almost exactly the same thing this morning," Fraser said with a wry smile. "The two of you are remarkably alike," he observed.

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or concerned that you can liken me to your sister," Meg said after a long moment's thought.

"Oh, it's all good, I assure you," Fraser replied.

"Hmm, I'm still not entirely convinced," Meg said, a slight note of teasing creeping into her voice. "I mean, really, I was once your commanding officer, and now you think it appropriate to compare me to your sister - whose record, may I add, is not exactly exemplary," she concluded, voice stern but eyes twinkling.

"That's not... I apologise if... I'm afraid that..." Fraser stammered, blushing. "Oh dear," he said softly, giving up on the attempt. Unseen to him, who was looking intently at the snow about seven centimetres from the toe of his left boot, Meg had been smiling. When she chuckled, Fraser's head snapped up and he looked at her in alarm and confusion.

"I was only teasing you," Meg said, her eyes dancing with amusement, "you're funny like that," she continued, stepping closer to him. When Fraser said nothing, she took another step towards him and pushed the hood of her coat back so she could see his face more easily.

"Like what?" Fraser asked eventually, biting his lip nervously.

"Completely sure of yourself one moment, then floundering around like a puppy in a snowdrift the next," Meg replied, keeping a careful watch on Fraser's expression - amusement, confusion, uncertainty.

"Have you ever seen a puppy in a snow drift?" he asked sternly - because facts were easier to handle than potential meanings.

"Well, no," Meg admitted, "but I have see what happens when your dogs jump into snow that's softer or deeper than they anticipate; it doesn't take much imagination to extrapolate."

"Ahh," Fraser said, nodding.

Meg brushed at her hair with her gloved hands, frowning in annoyance when the strands would not stay out of her eyes.

"Here, let me," Fraser said softly, screwing the cap back on the thermos before reaching out to tuck the offending strands behind her ears. Meg closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Fraser's cool fingers against her temples.

"Thanks," she murmured, feeling absurd at missing the connection when he removed his hand more than she could say.

"Open your eyes," Fraser whispered, and Meg obeyed.

"Oh," she breathed, "the lights." Meg looked up and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with Fraser and watch the Aurora properly. "They're..."

"Beautiful," Fraser said reverently, completing Meg's sentence. He pulled his gloves back on and they stood and watched the play of the lights for an indeterminate amount of time before Meg turned to him:

"Fraser, Ben," she whispered, causing Fraser to look down. Blue eyes met brown with an unspoken question. Ever so slowly, Fraser turned and leaned in; their eyes closed as their lips met in a long, gentle kiss filled with understanding, comfort, hope and promise. Nothing akin to the resigned goodbye of their last, nor the adrenaline fuelled passion of their first. When they broke apart, Fraser wrapped his arms around Meg's waist and rested his forehead against hers. He was glad when, a moment later, Meg mirrored his movements. After a long, blissful moment of quiet, Meg dared to open her eyes and found Fraser gazing intently at her, a soft smile on his lips. She smiled back, happy for the first time in a long time. It felt right - that was the only thought she could form.

"We should probably head back inside," Meg murmured reluctantly.

"Yes," Fraser replied equally softly before straightening so he could see Meg's face properly. "But first, a question: do you have any idea what that was about?"

"No," Meg admitted, her heartbeat sounding unnaturally loud in her ears, "but I don't think it something to never repeat itself."

"Understood," Fraser said, then smiled broadly. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Meg agreed, before she leaned in and gave Fraser another, briefer kiss. As they walked back to the cabin, Meg slipped her arm through Fraser's. Once inside, they sat together on the sofa - much to Maggie and Ray's simultaneous approval, amusement and annoyance. They were both unreservedly glad at the development of the relationship but, after two evenings curled up together on the sofa, coming back from (dutifully) doing the washing up and finding they'd been kicked off it was still not exactly appreciated.

That had been three days ago: days filled with quiet conversations; laughter as they taught (or tried to teach) Meg how to handle a dog sled; evenings spent watching the Aurora until the cold drove even Fraser and Maggie indoors; more laughter as Maggie threw snowballs at Fraser - hitting Ray as often as she hit her brother - while the two men chopped wood; soft kisses full of promise, the underlying passion there but held firmly in check. The quiet evening felt lonely, but it was a loneliness born of the absence of loved ones, not of isolation.

Fraser couldn't understand how his father had coped with only seeing him and his mother once every sixteen weeks - on average. For him, the decision didn't need to be made: such long spells away from those he loved were no longer his ideal. It wasn't that he loved the wilderness less, but his priorities had changed. Unless his transfer request was refused, he would bid farewell to long months patrolling vast areas of the wilderness on his own - for a time at least.

Understanding and acceptance he knew, while they did make a transfer less imperative, were not sufficient to ensure the success of a complicated relationship. And, while he knew that his and Meg's feelings for each other had withstood much more severe trials than infrequent meetings, their combined history was not calculated to make any long-term involvement simple. He would unashamedly look forward to the phone calls requesting his expertise at some remote detachment, and his annual leave would be a full month's escape to the wilderness, but his life would be made - lived and loved - far from the breathtaking expanse of his home.

**Author's Note:**

> If read or considered as part of 'Two roads diverged', this fits in about a month or six weeks before chapter 10 - and Eliza usurps her father's place as lead dog when they (try to) teach Meg how to handle a dog team.
> 
> The alliteration got a little out of control in places, sorry...


End file.
